Moonset
by The DG Forum
Summary: An unknown magic isolates Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the rest of the world, and the wind begins to change for the Second Wizarding War. AU.
1. Chapter 1

This story was written for **Jaden Malfoy87 **in **_The DG Forum Fic Exchange - Summer 2019_** by a member of our forum. For more details, please visit our page.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The first casualty was Ike Allerton, who succumbed to ingestion of magical monkhood on the two hundred and seventh day. He was thirteen, a slightly late-blooming Muggleborn in his second year who apparently couldn't tell apart magical plants for shit – although common sense would have dictated that not knowing what monkshood was wouldn't excuse plucking them just because they were pretty.

It was absurd. Ginny could almost hear Snape bellow a detention order: _Be grateful a month's worth of detentions is all I ask for, boy. Monkshood would have demanded your life_. She supposed it was a testament to the man's strength of presence that she could remember his snippy voice even now. She could barely remember what her own Head of House was like – tall, perhaps, with the point of her hat standing stern and steady?

"Is this where the memorial is?" she asked a red-eyed first-year quietly. The boy nodded, shivering in the rain. Ginny sent a rain-repelling charm his way.

"Th-thank you," he stumbled out, eyes wide and teeth chattering.

Ginny gave him a tight smile and walked past him, into the growing gaggle of students.

The grave was a simple soil structure, slightly messy; it was obvious that no one really knew how to build one. The lone, brown mound was a jarring break in the green of the Quidditch pitch, reminding Ginny of her first Mandrake weeding at the Burrow.

"It was the softest ground around," a girl behind her piped up defensively.

Ginny realised that her silence had been mistakenly perceived as dismay. "Oh, no," she quickly responded. "I understand. I heard some people tried to scope out the grounds around Hagrid's hut, but I suppose it's not really a great place for him. What with it being next to the Forbidden Forest and all."

The girl gave her a side-eyed look, but left it at that.

She pursed her lips as she realised that Allerton would have barely been out of his first year when the Disappearance happened. Perhaps he wouldn't even have known what monkshood was, let alone its notoriety for poison.

"Merlin," she muttered, feeling exhausted. "What was he even doing near the greenhouses, then?"

"Shortages. As usual." Hermione's bitter reply cut through her swirling thoughts. "Thanks for coming, Ginny. It's good to see you."

She turned to see the older girl standing next to her. "Oh, hey. Yeah, of course I came when I heard. I can't believe he – we –"

Ginny faltered.

A capricious part of her marvelled at the fact that over half a year had passed before someone was injured – _dead_, she corrected herself. Much as she disliked feeling that way, it was a small miracle that they had all lasted this long. But then again, she had to give the students credit for managing that.

"We were doing so well," said Hermione, her hands beginning to fidget with her sleeves. "The first- and second-years were settling into their team routines, finally, after so many weeks. We thought... _I_ thought, maybe they could do Greenhouse Two on their own this time." She buried her face in her hands. "It's my fault."

"Hermione," Ginny began gently, covering her friend's hands with her own, "Hermione, no. You're doing what you can. You and Harry and Ron have been so anxious to get back to – to saving the world, whatever you were doing before this thing." Her words snagged briefly on a familiar emotional splinter before she tamped it down.

_They've never had room for one more_, she thought, and felt sick with her own pettiness as soon as it crossed her mind.

"Ginny," Hermione rasped from behind her hands, "I'm supposed to give him a eulogy." She sniffled, pulling away briefly to wipe her eyes. "His parents sent him to Hogwarts, barely understanding what a wizard was, probably because they thought he'd be safest here when they learned that there might be a wizard war on, and while I was faffing in some stupid 18th-century book looking up something for the same war, the one _I can't even fight right now_ –"

A gust of wind blew through the pitch, and Hermione's curls swayed, rain-limp. Ginny cast another rain-repelling charm. Hermione's stricken face faltered at the gesture.

"Thanks, Ginny," she murmured, her previously tense arms falling to her sides.

Ginny tried to smile. "You just forgot to recast after yours ran out, is all." She reached out to Hermione's robes and pulled the collar hem closer together. "You feel cold. How long have you been out here? I thought you didn't have to come out until your eulogy."

"Mother hens, you Weasleys," Hermione joked weakly.

Ginny snorted. "Ron? Never."

The other girl cracked a smile at her response.

* * *

For two weeks after the entirety of the Hogwarts staff Disappeared, the castle had roiled in a manic kind of revelry – nobody knew what to do, so it seemed as if everyone was doing everything. Petty graffiti, impromptu parties, and a selection of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes finest stock all featured prominently. The Firewhisky flowed into a trickle shortly after, and Zacharias Smith volunteered to make the trip to Hogsmeade to resupply.

Zacharias Smith was also the first to find that all the passages to Hogsmeade no longer worked. It was the oddest thing; anyone who tried to use them would find themselves stuck in an infinite passage, and when they inevitably turned around, they would find they hadn't walked much from the entrance at all.

Ever the enterprising student, Smith decided to use a broomstick to fly to Hogsmeade. To his frustration – and the astonishment of everyone else who tried – he also could never seem to get past the castle grounds. A few fourth-years decided to row across the lake and returned in exhaustion, bewildered. Regardless of the routes they took or the methods they chose, anyone who tried to leave Hogwarts seemed to be caught in an endless loop that prevented them from even seeing beyond the castle grounds.

"Ron and I have been doing a bit of research in the library's Forbidden section," Hermione had told Ginny, one morning over breakfast. "We think Hogwarts might have some kind of protective magic in place, but I'm not sure if it's caused the Disappearance or if it's reacting to it."

Next to her, Ron looked grim. "It makes more sense for it to be a response."

The curly-haired girl bit her lip. "There's not a lot of literature on it, which I suppose makes sense if you'd like to keep the magic secure. But I agree. We still don't know what it is."

"Or if it's still happening," Ron added.

Across the table, Neville's eyes widened. "Are you saying we might also… disappear?" he whispered, looking around furtively to ensure that no one else had overheard.

By then, the realisation that they were locked in began to dawn among the student body, eliciting a quiet panic. Owls circled the castle and then returned with their letters undelivered. Floo Powder still burst into green flames but failed to transport the person in the grate.

Five months after the staff Disappeared, Zacharias Smith had an operating Firewhisky brewery on the grounds out of student-voted necessity.

Seven months after the staff Disappeared, Ike Allerton died.

* * *

The crowd at the memorial grew to include what Ginny thought must have been the entire student population of Hogwarts. The students shuffled into the stands, keeping with their House colours out of habit – except for Slytherin, whose stands looked conspicuously empty.

Once it became clear that the teachers were not on a spontaneous, temporary outing, the four Houses had seen each of their students band together in a quiet, slightly terrified calm. Slytherin, however, seemed to take it to an entirely different level, seemingly bunkering in their dungeons.

And yet, Ginny noticed a shock of white-blond hair amidst the sea of black robes two stands down from where she sat.

Draco Malfoy sat stiffly between what looked like a group of younger Ravenclaw students and – was that Theodore Nott? Oddly enough, he seemed to be listening to Hermione's eulogy. It dawned on her that the empty stands didn't necessarily mean that Slytherin wasn't in attendance.

On the week of the Disappearance, a classmate's Muggleborn mother had been slaughtered by the Death Eaters; and yet, here Malfoy was, at the memorial of a young and stupid Muggleborn.

_Where was he, before this? When we were deciding the roster, when we were low on potions –_

Ginny didn't know whether he was being audacious or gracious by appearing here and now, and it unsettled her.

As Hermione finished speaking and the students began to leave their seats, Ginny nudged the brown-haired boy still sitting in front of her and leaned forward. "Hey, Colin," she whispered. "Can you get a good look at that stand over there? Is that who I think it is? Second row from the back?"

Colin twisted around in his seat, and she could see he already had his camera at the ready. "Ginny! What, that one there?" He lifted his camera to his eye, a hand adjusting the lens. "Blimey. What's Malfoy doing here?"

"That's what I'd like to know. Thanks, Colin." She gave his shoulder a few solid pats and headed down from the stand, taking care to keep that distinct shade of blond in view.

She all but flew down the stairs, the wet ground making a satisfying splash as her boots met the grass of the pitch. Ginny strode past the Gryffindor stands, her robes rising and falling erratically in the strong wind.

She felt her heart might do the same and willed it to stay.

A small voice in the back of her asked what the hell she was doing. _I don't know_, she answered. _What the hell am I doing?_

Near the Gryffindor stands, Hermione looked like she had been asked something by a small group of first-years and was talking to them with a sombre face.

Guilt coiled in her gut. _Anything I can, I suppose._

She sprinted across the pitch and came to an abrupt halt in front of Malfoy, blocking his way.

"Malfoy," she said. To his credit, he didn't seem surprised at all.

Malfoy's grey eyes were sharp as he stopped, Nott close behind him. "Weasley. You're in my way."

Ginny was already regretting her decision to approach him. "Yes, I am. What are you doing here?"

He sneered. "Compassion for my fellow student."

"Bullshit."

"We're not here to cause trouble, Weasley," Nott interjected, annoyed.

Ginny shot him a sceptical look. "At a Muggleborn funeral?"

Malfoy barked out a laugh. "Are you kidding me? He's dead. What trouble _can_ we cause?"

_Piece of –_ "You can speak of him with a little more respect!" she growled.

"Not sure if you know what a funeral is, Weasley, he's _dead_," spat Malfoy. "Magical monkshood isn't a piece of Flobberworm. Someone should have respected him enough to tell him that. Come on, Nott."

He sidestepped past her, but apparently couldn't resist a shoulder check as he left. Nott sighed before catching up to Malfoy and walking with him.

Anger surged in Ginny's chest at the provocation. "How _dare_ y–"

"Oi! Malfoy! I saw that!" Behind her, the grass crunched under furious-sounding stomps, and when she turned around to see she wasn't surprised to find Ron, his face contorted in indignation. "Hey!"

Malfoy and Nott had heartily ignored his yells. Ron let out a loud _tsk_ and whipped around to Ginny, gripping her shoulders.

"What did that pillock say?" he demanded. "Did he do anything to you?"

Ginny slapped away his arms, irritated. "Quit it, Ron. He was just being a dick."

Ron's face twitched, and he moved closer to her ear. "Why'd you confront him like that?" he whisper-yelled. "Didn't we tell you about him? Harry reckons he's a Death Eater."

"Harry reckons a lot of things," she responded flippantly, though she couldn't help the persistent pleasant feeling as she heard Harry's name. "What's Malfoy going to do, _Avada_ me in the middle of the pitch? Summon You-Know-Who when we can't even contact anyone two feet beyond the front yard?"

Ron shot her an annoyed look. "I'm sorry I worried for nothing."

Ginny felt her stance soften. "I know, Ron. But you've got to know that Slughorn thought that I had the best Bat Bogey Hex in the entire school."

Ron grimaced. "Yeah, I don't need Slughorn to tell me that."

She grinned at him.

_Magical monkshood isn't a piece of Flobberworm. Someone should have respected him enough to tell him that._

Ike Allerton had been stupid, but maybe no one had told him that. Why hadn't anyone? Were they scared? Was he scared? Didn't they have anyone to –

"...protect them?" Ginny murmured as an idea struck her.

Ron looked at her oddly. "Protect who?"

Ginny ignored him as her mind raced.

"Ron! Oh, hey, Ginny, you're here too."

Ginny's eyes flicked to the new voice and her traitorous heart did a little somersault at the emerald eyes that danced under jet-black hair.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted him. "Ron was just saying he knows I've got the best Bat Bogey Hex in all of Hogwarts."

Ron rolled his eyes. Harry smiled, amused.

"Yeah, I remember," he said. "That was a mean one you pulled on Malfoy last year."

"He deserved it," Ron chimed in proudly.

She should've hexed Malfoy. _Bugger._

What _was_ Malfoy doing there? It didn't make any sense – and accompanied by Nott, with nary a hint of the two gargoyles that usually followed him around, no less.

Slytherin.

The only Slytherins that came to the Great Hall for food were only the first-years, with a smattering of second- to fourth-years. The feasts were smaller, but the routine seemed to be no small comfort to most students, judging by how crowded dinner remained.

But it was as if Slytherin students from the fifth year and older was never at Hogwarts at all.

She'd wondered if it was because of how the year had begun, with the resurrection of Death Eater activity and Voldemort's return. There was no way that Slytherin students were wholly uninvolved. Were they scared now that their Dark Lord was out of reach, now that they had no master to protect them?

"Hey, listen," Ginny began, prompting the two boys to look at her. "I was wondering –" _Now or never_, she thought half-jokingly. "I'm thinking about holding classes for the first- and second-years."

A beat passed.

"You're going to what?" Ron said blankly, as if he'd misheard.

Ginny shot her brother a dirty look. "It doesn't have to be a big deal. But obviously, this – getting the younger kids to be safe with everything going on is going to take a while." She swallowed. "Ike Allerton was an idiot, but he deserved better than to die like that."

"...I don't think it's a bad idea," Harry replied thoughtfully. "It's not that different from when we did the DA."

Ron was looked at her as if he was seeing a completely different person. "You know," he began, perking up, "Hermione might like to hear about it, Gin. She's been thinking about how we've got to 'have some education! It's a school, for God's sake!'" His voice took on a higher pitch as he mimicked Hermione. "I think she wants to build resilience, or something."

Ginny smiled brightly. She had been too preoccupied with Malfoy's presence to really listen to Hermione's eulogy, but she did remember her mentioning something like that.

_Someone should have respected him enough to tell him that._

She closed her eyes. Why was Malfoy in her head again?

* * *

**Elizabeth's Prompt #2**

**Basic premise:** A Hogwarts fic. Harry and other students wake one morning to find all the teachers have vanished! Hilarity, mischief, and a little bit of danger ensues...all of which somehow draw Draco and Ginny together, of course.

**Must haves:** At least a little bit of humor, but it doesn't have to go full on humor. Set (Draco's) fifth year or later. Doesn't have to be totally canonical. The Trio trying to take charge in some way (either successfully or unsuccessfully).

**No-no's:** _No_ nicknames likes Weaselette or Ferret. No Harry/Hermione, and no Trio-bashing.

**Rating range:** Any

**Bonus points:** If Draco and Ginny set off on their own to find out what happened to the teachers, while the Trio or others try to keep everything in order. If different factions form, either along or across House lines. If some or all of the fic is in Harry's POV.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The entire way back to the common room from the Quidditch pitch, Draco cursed – both silently and audibly under his breath.

"Bloody Weasleys," he fumed. "They're all the bloody same."

Theo raised an eyebrow at him, quiet, as if in expectation of what he was going to say next.

"It was a bloody stupid idea to go," Draco growled. "Why the fuck did you think it was a good idea, Nott?"

"I didn't," Theo responded simply.

"Who the fuck did, then?"

Theo snorted. "Aren't you a bit young for senility, Malfoy?" He laughed openly as Draco sent him a glare.

"_Splendour_," the blond hissed at the stone wall, and all but stomped inside the common room. The wall closed behind him and Theo, and the sudden plunge into low, green lighting after being out on the Quidditch grounds was a little disorienting.

"Look what the cat dragged in," someone drawled. He could see Vince and Greg snicker at the comment.

"Not you, I hope, Zabini," he responded without missing a beat. Theo raised an eyebrow, seemingly impressed.

"Don't be stupid, Zabini," someone else cut in. "You don't have to drag a dog home, they just come back, tail wagging and all. If they're loyal, that is."

A few younger students, noticing Draco's presence in the room, shuffled back into their dormitories. Their pale, alert faces were conspicuous as the chatter gradually tapered to silence.

He grit his teeth. He wasn't going to rise up to petty insults. He wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction.

"Shut it, Pucey," said Pansy, having emerged from an armchair as soon as she heard the common room entrance seal.

"Leave it, Pans," he threw at the girl, who'd already begun approaching him with an expectant look in her eye. "I'm not in the mood."

She rolled her eyes and flopped back into her armchair rather ungraciously.

"Good do–"

Draco flicked a Silencing Charm at Pucey. Blessed quiet. Perhaps he could go for a good, long soak in the Prefects' bathroom after this.

"Did you at least learn anything useful while you were out there?" Zabini pressed.

Irritation clawed at him. "What even made you think there was going to be anything useful at a lousy send-off for a stupid kid? There wasn't." _I fucking told you_, he wanted to say, but didn't.

Zabini looked unconvinced, but Theo raised his arms, shrugging. "I was there. It was mostly Granger loving the sound of her own voice."

_He's dead_, Draco wanted to say – but didn't this time, either_._ _He's dead._

If it had been a year ago, he probably would have found it immensely funny that a brainless Mudblood had gone and offed himself.

_But the brainless Mudblood is dead now._ Anxiety welled up in his chest. He quashed it before it could show on his face.

A frustrated yell escaped Pucey. Evidently, he had managed to undo the Silencing Charm. "You're useless, Malfoy," he spat, hurt pride leaking through his hoarse voice. "Can't glean anything good from a filthy Mudblood. How hard can it be? No wonder the Dark Lord made his mutt bite y–"

Draco felt fury sear through him. "What?" he interrupted, his voice coming out low and stalking. He could almost feel the collective flinch. "Made his mutt _what_?"

A growl was instinctively rippling through his lungs, before he realised and immediately shut it down. _Fuck._

It was too late. The air now smelled like fear and disgust.

Pucey coughed. "Nothing," he grumbled, lifting his bag noisily and making for the dormitory.

"Tosser," Theo muttered under his breath.

Draco forgot his rage for a moment as he registered what his usually patient peer had let slip. Theo looked annoyed, but his face smoothed out as soon as he noticed Draco's gaze.

He shook his head, gave Draco's shoulder a light pat, and left.

Zabini got up, and as he walked past Draco, murmured, "I trust your task from the Dark Lord is progressing well?"

Draco gave no response as he promptly turned on his heels and headed back out of the common room.

_Losers, all of them._

"Zabini," Greg's voice floated from the common room. "Maybe you shouldn't… It's almost, you know. That."

The entrance wall slid shut, likely before he could hear Zabini reply with the '_that time of the month_' joke he'd heard all year.

Blessed. Quiet.

With the sounds of the common room drowned out by the heavy stone, the watery rumbles of the lake was all he could hear. It was a familiar sound, almost intimate; he remembered that he'd written a letter to his mother in his first year to complain about it disturbing his sleep. _Nonsense, Draco_, she'd responded, her language seeming a little short in tone.

He'd disliked the sound up until the start of the year, when its steady, constant presence lulled his unpleasant thoughts to rest.

_Do what needs to be done, young Malfoy. And I shall personally see to it that you are rewarded beyond your dreams._

Draco all but ripped off his outer robes, carrying it in his arm, his hands curled into fists. What was he doing? A feeling of vague urgency kept his mind racing, but he had no fucking clue what he was supposed to be doing.

What Draco did know was that his housemates were likely asking themselves the exact same question about him. If they didn't know what he was going to do, he was a threat. An unbridled werewolf – the only way to keep one in check was to become threats to him before he could become a threat to them.

Draco growled, making for the stairs and away from the dungeons.

His forearm had stopped burning with pain months ago, but the feel of Fenrir's fangs ripping through skin and muscle seemed just like last week. The hippogriff incident in his third year had not prepared him for the force of a fully grown werewolf's jaw. He was pretty sure his bone had received a fracture that night that had since healed oddly; there was now a thin jolt of pain that ran up his arm if he moved it in the wrong direction.

_Task from the Dark Lord?_ Draco thought spitefully, gritting his teeth. Everyone knew damn well it was a punishment – for his father, for him, and for the Malfoys to come.

The Malfoys had never had werewolves, if the annals of their history were to be believed. When Draco thought about it for the first time, it made little sense to him; more likely, his poor werewolf ancestors were just relegated to insignificance. This time, however, he was the only inheritor.

He let his footsteps fall a little more heavily onto the corridor tiles, abruptly changing directions. The warm pool in the Prefects' bathroom would have to wait.

* * *

There was a rush of cold, stagnant air as Draco opened the door to the Room of Hidden Things.

He could see the floating dust motes scatter as he walked down the long room, impossible sunlight shining through grand cathedral windows. Making his way past the assorted junk, beyond the rusted mirror to the left, turning at the eerily stationary painting, he came to a stop at his destination.

Black with metallic tendrils that might once have been gold, the Vanishing Cabinet was no less imposing than it had been the first time Draco laid his eyes upon it. The only proof of his regular visits was a small clearing amid the items that surrounded it, and he expertly sidestepped them to kneel at his usual spot. It never seemed to get any more comfortable – in split-second irritation, he cast a Cushioning Charm on himself and looked up at the Cabinet.

_Time to get to work. _Draco pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes and unfolded it, suppressing a surge of frustration as he was again confronted with the familiar notes and equations he had scribbled during his last visit.

He had figured out quickly enough that the Cabinet worked using a different logic to Apparition – from the Apparition classes last year, he'd gathered that such magic could only be made possible in the castle by the explicit permission of a Hogwarts headmaster. Draco had thought that Montague might have been exaggerating about nearly dying in the Cabinet, but the sorry state he'd been found in would make sense had his Apparition attempts still been restricted by the castle.

The castle's defence magic was a topic he'd had yet to encounter even in his father's prided private library, which he had perused most thoroughly during his preliminary research –

"For your... task, Draco," his mother had told him, her hesitation an unsettling sight as she'd brought him to a pair of heavy oak doors. "Your father's personal collection is quite extensive, and it's his hope that it can be of some assistance in your school activities this year."

How was she doing? Draco shut his eyes. A vague, tight feeling – a wordless reprimand from himself – washed over him.

Having ruled out Apparition magic was the bulk of his progress, and he wondered for the hundredth time it he was blocking himself on purpose. The only sure reward that lay beyond Hogwarts – that awaited his success – was the collection of his debt to the Dark Lord.

_There had been no dramatic collective gasp as Professor Sprout simply, silently ceased to be. They fully expected her to return from under a particularly dense corner of the greenhouse, only to realise nearly thirty minutes later that she had just Disappeared._

The Room of Hidden Things remained silent as he worked, a morgue of forgotten trinkets passing judgement on his cowardice.

The Disappearance had been a relief for him. Worse – it gave him hope.

* * *

"Ten past seven," Theo stated. "You're late. Did you receive some kind of epiphany? A flash of inspiration?"

Draco gave him a dirty look.

"I suppose that's a no," he replied, not missing a beat. "That's just as well, because I didn't either." Theo gestured at a blackened cauldron a few feet away from him.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "You tried to brew the entire thing yourself? You're mad, Nott."

The notes Draco had pilfered from Snape's desk that detailed brewing instructions for the Wolfsbane Potion were straightforward. _Seems easy enough_, he'd told Theo, letting himself feel a little smug, a little confident in his old, Potions overachiever self.

_Easy enough, he says_, Theo had retorted exactly one hour later, when the contents of Draco's cauldron had exploded all over the laboratory.

Theo shrugged. "You were half an hour late. I got bored." He reached into his pocket and lightly tossed a glass bottle at him. "Catch."

Eyes widening as he realised what it was, Draco caught it in a panic. "What the hell –"

The brown-haired boy grinned at him. "I had a fall protection charm on it. It's just fun to see the unflappable prat Malfoy taken down a peg or two."

Black-hearted bastard. Draco glared at him.

"You've still got enough left for three cycles, don't you?"

"Two," he responded, still glaring as he unstoppered the bottle. A dense plume of smoke puffed out; Draco held his breath and downed the potion inside in one swig. He couldn't help but make a face at the aftertaste. "Two cycles, now."

"The old git always did have a soft spot for you," said Theo with a derisive snort. "Leaving you a supply like that. Well, you'd better get cracking on the brew, then, hadn't you?"

"Why do you think I recruited you, Nott?" Draco shot back.

"Because I'm better at Potions than you ever were. Obviously."

Theodore Nott liked to be an arse about everything, Draco had found – rather to his surprise at the beginning, as he'd never been this mouthy in previous years. Draco wasn't even sure he'd heard Theo talk more than two sentences before.

Ironically, he was now the only student who knew willing to talk more than two sentences to Draco. Somehow he knew he would never tell the other boy how grateful he was for that… or for how Theo had so willingly agreed to help him figure out how to brew this blasted potion.

Snape had been cautious enough to brew a supply that had lasted this long – he would never have thought to ask for it – but ever since the teachers Disappeared, Draco had kept a watchful eye on his Wolfsbane Potion stockpile. Certainly, the last thing he needed was a werewolf hunt spearheaded by a mob of angry, isolated, magically immature students.

He'd tried asking the Room of Requirement for more of them, but it only ever provided him with a cosy-looking living room, sans potions – complete with a generous armchair, large enough for a wolf to curl up in.

It pissed him off, so he only ever asked for the Room of Hidden Things from then on.

Theo interrupted his thoughts before he could work himself into a foul mood. "Why didn't you tell Zabini?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "About what?"

"The thing Granger was going on about." Theo looked disbelieving at his lack of reaction. "At the funeral today?"

"_They're_ what_?" a loud, enraged whisper cut through the air in the Ravenclaw stand. Draco, startled, looked down at the rows in front and found one of the Patil girls talking to the person next to her, looking furious._

"_Okay, look, the DA was one thing," she began in a barrage. "You'd have been delusional to not learn defence magic with all the Death-Eaters-on-the-loose shit, yeah? But – first years? Are you serious? Has Granger lost her mind?"_

Draco had completely forgotten all about it in the aftermath of his run-in with the Weasley girl, but he wasn't going to tell Theo that either after that stupid 'senility' remark earlier in the day.

"Zabini's an arse," Draco simply said, as if that explained everything.

Theo snorted. "Your call," he said as he sat on a nearby chair. "But the others might get mad when they hear about the Potterites gathering students for a Hogwarts breakout project and realise you didn't tell them."

"Yeah, well." Draco shrugged. "I didn't tell them to expect me to cater."

That, and they were going to be mad at him for whatever he did, so he'd decided spitefully to not do anything.

It really had been quite the bombshell announcement. A public callout for, what, applications to help investigate the Disappearance? Singling out first-years who had barely received any formal education, and posing this as an opportunity to give them that?

_The first-years came here to learn_, the Gryffindor girl had said, voice shaking.

_And Ike… We know that Ike was doing his best to help us get through this. But this isn't enough – not for the first-years. As an older student, I should be helping you so that something like this shouldn't happen again. And you can… you can help us find a way out so this doesn't happen again. For Ike._

Knowing Granger, she probably believed that with complete sincerity.

"I just can't believe she would announce something like that at a _funeral_."

"You're expecting _Granger_ to have delicacy?"

"It's just distasteful, is all," said Theo, shrugging.

"You're not the only one who feels that way," Draco replied, thinking of Padma Patil's little outburst.

"What, Malfoy, you're not keen on ickle firsties haphazardly training up to confront and break centuries-old defence magic?" Theo asked mockingly.

"Don't be a Gryffindor, Nott."

Theo laughed.

Draco gestured at the cupboard where clean cauldrons were. "Let's get to work."

* * *

A/N: After being in the fandom for X years, I only discovered this fan theory during the exchange:

dracomalfoyisawerewolf DOT com

I wish it were canon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Oh, for Merlin's – _Hughes I see you don't you dare_ –"

Furious, Ginny Disarmed a wand from the grip of a freckled boy.

"You're channelling Mum, Gin," Ron said in awe.

"Shut it," retorted Ginny as she gestured to a terrified-looking Hughes to come over to the front of the classroom. "I thought you were here to help me."

Hughes approached her gingerly, stopping a whole two metres away. She could hear Ron stifling his laughter.

"What are you doing?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Giving you a wide berth," Hughes mumbled, not meeting her gaze.

Ron burst into laughter and Ginny could feel her eye twitch.

"You _do not_ try to Transfigure anybody's hair into rat tails," she enunciated to the boy who was all but cowering in front of her. "You _do not_ try to Transfigure humans, full stop. Not on yourself, let alone anybody else _while you are still learning the basics_."

"Yes, Miss Weasley," muttered Hughes, who seemed to shrink further at every word.

Ginny kicked Ron none-too-subtly when he looked as if he would explode at 'Miss Weasley'.

"Can I have my wand back?" Hughes asked hesitantly.

Ginny side-eyed the boy for a moment, and then tossed the requested item back to him. The boy caught his wand and scuttled back to his desk, relief evident on his face.

"What next, Miss Weasley?" Ron asked sombrely.

She opted to ignore him.

"How did you know he was going to turn that kid's hair into rat tails, anyway?"

"Who do you think helped Fred and George with the worms in the pasta that time?"

Ron looked scandalised.

* * *

"I can't believe you kicked me out," Ron grumbled at dinner. Harry gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

Ginny rolled her eyes and stuck a fork in her roasted pumpkin. "Ron, I love you, but please don't pursue a career in teaching."

Hermione gave a laugh. "So I assume your first class went well?"

"Firft-yearf are a menafe," Ginny responded, mouth full of pumpkin. The house elves had outdone themselves yet again; the roasted pumpkins were dense and didn't taste as if they had been Engorged to ration at all.

Hermione elbowed her and gestured with her chin for her to finish her chewing first.

Ron took advantage of the gap in conversation. "There was a boy who apparently tried to turn a girl's hair into rat tails." He snickered, probably thinking of the conversation.

Hermione flinched. "What?"

"I told him off," Ginny said, having finished the pumpkin slice. "He won't do it again."

"Don't worry," said Ron, smiling mischievously. "Miss Weasley won't let him – ow! What the hell, Ginny?"

"All right, I'm done," Ginny said cheerfully, feeling spirited after having smacked her annoyance of a brother. "I'm heading to the library to prep for the next one. Lots to do. Bye!"

"You're welcome," Ron said loudly as she walked away from the table. "I told you she'd be good at it," she heard him add in a lower volume to Hermione, and Ginny smiled.

She was grateful to him for bringing up the idea to the other girl – Ginny was always a good student, but no one had academic clout like Hermione Granger. The more students attending her class, the less the chance of a second Ike Allerton.

Her smile faded.

_I have to be content with that._

The gentle chill of spring made the castle's arched corridors seem even taller; the wind whistled through the stone, echoing through the evening. Ginny pulled her outer robes more tightly around herself.

In hindsight, the idea of older students teaching the younger ones in the absence of the teaching faculty seemed so obvious. No – maybe the idea had been there for much longer, had lurked as a possibility all along. Maybe she had just implicitly believed, as everyone else seemed to, that Harry would take care of it, whatever 'it' happened to be.

Incorrigible, invincible, impossible Harry. There wasn't anything that he couldn't do, so why wouldn't he do it?

Ginny's neck prickled with shame._ Oh, hell. I can't believe how naive I've been._

Her gut was an odd mix of admiration and inferiority. Like any Gryffindor, she dreamt of swashbuckling adventures, but the one time she got to play the main character, she'd inadvertently fuelled a psychopathic diary.

Ginny sighed and checked her watch – it was barely half past seven. She had finished dinner a little early. _Probably for the best if I'm going to be this existential._ She bit her lip, then straightened her posture and set a determined face. Lesson planning came first.

_Clackclackclackclack_.

The sudden, hurried flurry of shoes at the turn of the corridor surprised Ginny, and her feet came to a stop as she glimpsed someone surge past the intersection ahead. She recognised the white-blond hair before anything else.

It was only the second time she had seen an older Slytherin while other students were out and about, and it was Malfoy again.

_What are the chances?_ Curiosity and caution warred in her mind as she decided on a whim to follow Malfoy.

Ginny kept a safe distance as he descended the stairs into the dungeons, counting his footsteps before going down the steps herself. She still had no idea why he and Nott would attend the funeral, especially when they seemed to know that Ike Allerton was Muggleborn.

Ron's words echoed in her mind. _Didn't we tell you about him? Harry reckons he's a Death Eater._

Slytherins simply couldn't be trusted with coincidences.

She treaded lightly on the balls of her feet, making sure to stay behind turns in the long, winding corridors of the dungeons. Malfoy walked with a sense of urgency, but hardly looked back to check for pursuers.

_If he's sneaking off to do some Death Eating, he's not very good_, Ginny thought childishly.

She followed him past Snape's office, deeper into the jigsaw of rooms; she wondered if he was heading to his common room, but Slytherins she'd shared Potions classes with in previous years didn't return in this direction. She ducked into an alcove when Malfoy turned a corner and was surprised to hear a door latch open and his footsteps cease.

_Did he enter a room?_ Ginny waited twenty heartbeats, then warily turned the same corner.

It was a dead-end corridor that smelled of musty wood, lined with long-disused classrooms. The rooms were all dark and silent, except for one – the door of the furthest classroom was ajar, letting a soft, orange light spill into the empty hallway.

Ginny considered her options for a moment. Whatever it was Malfoy was doing, he didn't seem too concerned about anyone being interested in his activities and wasn't being too careful. She could turn around now and make a note to return here later to investigate if Malfoy's behaviour became more… Death Eater-y.

Yet her feet seemed reluctant to move away.

_Enemies of the Heir, Beware –_

Shame crawled up Ginny's back from somewhere deep within her, and before she could fully process what was happening, she found herself tiptoeing to the side of the doorway, stopping just out of sight.

_What the hell am I doing?_ she asked herself hollowly, and leaned in ever so slightly to glimpse what was happening.

The classroom was mostly empty, containing only a large cupboard, a worn bench desk and a long desk bench. Malfoy stood alone, facing away from the door, leaning his head on the cupboard. He let out a deep, despairing sigh.

He looked terrible. Ginny didn't think he was capable of exuding this much despondency.

Malfoy pulled out a glass bottle from his pocket and expertly uncorked it. Ginny blinked in surprise as a cloud of dark, purplish smoke puffed out of the container. The liquid itself seemed vaguely familiar, albeit a little menacing in its bubbly viscosity. She racked her memories to see if she could recall what it was when Malfoy lifted the bottle to his mouth and drank the potion in one long swig.

Then, as if in slow motion, she watched him place the empty bottle on the desk, turn his head to the side, and raise his gaze – to meet hers.

His eyes widened almost comically. "Weasley?" Malfoy croaked in disbelief, the syllables rising in pitch tinged with panic. "What the hell – what are you doing?"

Ginny froze. "I-I –"

The blond boy seemed to regain his momentum in an instant. "You need to get out of here," he interrupted her, his face severe. "You need to go. Now."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and stepped into the doorway. "Why, what's happening?"

"Fucking hell, there's no time –"

Suddenly, Ginny felt something heavy push her inside, followed immediately by what sounded like the door closing. Alarmed, she turned around and found that the door had swung shut on its own, pushing her all the way into the room.

She reached for the door handle and pushed it, but found it did not so much as budge. Fear, anger and adrenaline coursed through her as she whipped out her wand and pointed it on Malfoy.

"Let me go," she hissed. _Shitshitshit._

Malfoy looked at her incredulously. "Do I _look_ like I wanted to trap you here?" he said, sighing and running his hand across his face in resignation. "Bloody hell. I told you to leave, didn't I?"

Ginny furrowed her eyebrows. She couldn't deny that he had. She slowly lowered her wand, her mind stubbornly, frustratingly gone blank.

"Just what I need," Malfoy was muttering. "A Weasley. On a full moon. Bloody brilliant."

The words snapped Ginny back to the present. "Malfoy," she began firmly, "what's going on?"

Malfoy looked at her balefully. "That door won't open until moonset," he said shortly.

"_Moonset_? That's tomorrow morning! Malfoy, I can't stay here for that long –"

He gave a low, bitter laugh. "I can't open it, Weasley," he said. "That door was set to contain me here. Besides, I don't have my wand."

"Contain–?" Ginny felt as if she was missing something very important.

"Oh Salazar's – do I need to spell it out for you?" he asked resentfully. "Full moon. Moonset. Locked. Wandless. And I assume you saw me drink that potion just now."

Ginny stared at him.

Malfoy looked at a clock on the wall. "Three minutes," he muttered. He turned to Ginny. "Weasley. Don't attack me, and I won't attack you. I drank all my potions this week, so I'm probably going to sleep."

"What –"

"If you breathe so much as a word about what happens here to anyone," Malfoy added, his grey eyes blazing, "I will hunt you down."

Ginny felt her eyes widen. "If you're not going to help V-Voldemort," she said, stuttering over the unfamiliar name, and faltered.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "At least you're reasonable." He turned around, flinched at something that seemed to have come to mind, then turned back to face her. "Don't scream," he added. "I'd like my ears intact."

A strange, animalistic sound began to rumble from Malfoy's body, stopping Ginny from saying another word. He all but ripped off his outer robes before he fell to the ground on all fours, his back arched like a cat and his head held low to his chest. Ginny's hands flew to her mouth, unknowingly suppressing her voice as she watched Malfoy's skin ripple into white golden fur, his fingers lengthening into claws, and his muscles compounding into those of a lethal creature. When the fabric of his shirt could no longer hold his burgeoning torso, it ripped – a sound that echoed in the otherwise silent night.

Malfoy turned his head, and guarded grey eyes glinted above a snout.

Ginny instinctively took several steps back in alarm, her back crashing into the very heavy, very closed door with a loud bang.

_A werewolf. He's a werewolf._ She gripped her wand, still lowered at her side. He had promised not to attack her if she didn't provoke him.

Malfoy raised his head, triangular ears laid flat in wariness, and slowly turned to face her.

Ginny could feel cold sweat affect her hold on her wand. _Please. Please, please don't attack me._

They stared at each other for a tense moment. Her heart boomed in her throat; she felt as if she were about to throw up. The bizarre thought that maybe Malfoy could hear it crossed Ginny's mind.

He gave a huff and padded over next to the desk, where he promptly laid down, curling up.

Ginny felt her knees give way. She fell to the ground, her wand clattering on the stone floor. Her chest heaved as her breathing attempted to keep up with her heart's chaotic pumping. Bile rose up in her throat, but she forced it back down, eyes shut tightly.

She counted her heartbeats. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six._

Ginny slowly opened her eyes when her breathing began to even out, and looked up. Malfoy was still curled up next to the desk, neither bothered by her presence nor fazed by her reaction. He seemed to show no response at all.

She slowly got up on her knees and decided to sit on the ground, leaning her back on the door. She let her head fall back and her legs stretch out.

She was alive. She was unhurt.

Exhausted, Ginny let her mind wander as her gaze settled on the lone burning torch high on the classroom wall. This obviously wasn't the first time Malfoy had come to this room. How long had he been a werewolf? Did he really just spend the night sleeping? Did it hurt?

The gentle sway of the fire of the torch began to lull her, and she felt her body relax and float away.

The last thing she remembered thinking before sleep took her was how dusty the room was.

* * *

Ginny woke up shivering.

_This doesn't look like Gryffindor Tower._ She blinked sleepily, hugging herself for warmth, and looked around. Her heart stopped when she saw the pile of fur next to the table.

Instantly, memories of the night returned to her. Malfoy the werewolf picked that particular moment to twitch in his sleep, and Ginny subconsciously held her breath. A few seconds later, a gentle, rumbling snore broke the tense silence, and she relaxed.

Malfoy had kept his word. She was still unharmed.

When she realised she was still safe, her drowsiness returned in full force –

_Damn it_. She was still cold.

She looked enviously at Malfoy's plush fur when she noticed his discarded robes. She quietly got up and picked them up, intending to continue sleeping using the robes as a blanket and the bench as a bed. The wood would probably be uncomfortable, but it was better than the cold stone floor.

Ginny glanced at Malfoy.

His body rose and fell with each breath, the low huffs strong and steady. It occurred to her that she had never expected to be in the same room as a sleeping werewolf, and she peered at him a little more closely. His fur, the same colour as his hair, looked rough and dense – certainly not the fur of any puppy she'd ever met. His eyes were closed, and if she strained her eyes under the torch light, she could make out some eyelashes.

She jumped in surprise when Malfoy's tail brushed against her leg, and then realised that he seemed to be… vibrating? Purring?

_I guess werewolves must dream too – wait._

She hesitated, considering Malfoy's words from before. _Don't attack me, and I won't attack you._

Ginny gingerly reached out a hand and touched his back, before pulling her arm back in surprise.

He was shivering.

She sighed, decided to stop thinking, and laid down next to him, carefully draping the robes over the both of them. His trembling immediately lessened, and Ginny smiled with satisfaction before the warmth of his fur and his robes guided her back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Something was tickling Draco's nose, and it smelled like cinnamon. His eyes fluttered open; despite the tell-tale exhaustion from the transformation weighing down his muscles, he'd slept quite well. He marvelled at the feeling drowsily; the Wolfsbane Potion did have certain relaxation properties, but this was the first time he'd experienced anything like it.

The cinnamon smell tickled his nose again. He scrunched his face, slowly looking up – and froze.

There was someone else sleeping next to him.

No sunlight reached the room, but her hair managed to glow ever so slightly from what tiny light the torch gave. _Burnt sienna_, he remembered the name of a paint exactly that colour from his mother's gouache set.

_Don't attack me, and I won't attack you._

The events of last night came back to him in a steady trickle, and Draco felt a fresh wave of tiredness wash over him. A Weasley now knew he was a damned werewolf, and he still had no idea how it came to be that the aforementioned Weasley was sleeping so peacefully next to him.

Draco refused to consider the possibility that the uncommon warmth was because of her presence.

He sat up slowly and realised with dismay that he was only wearing a pair of tattered trousers.

* * *

Two weeks had passed and no Gryffindors had come to the Slytherin common room with wands ablaze, so he could safely conclude that the smallest Weasley hadn't informed anyone else. He was surprised to find that he did feel grateful for her silence, and dimly noted that Grandfather Abraxas would probably roll in his grave if he knew a Malfoy felt any kind of gratitude to a Weasley.

He had yet to tell Theo about the encounter with her, and for whatever reason, he didn't want to ask why.

Draco threw himself into repairing the Vanishing Cabinet instead.

"Fuck."

The Flobberworms he'd put inside the Cabinet to test his latest spellwork had all returned intact, but dead. It was an improvement over the last batch he'd nicked from the greenhouses, which returned in various gruesome states.

Draco gave a frustrated, angry sigh, running his hand through his hair. What was he missing? He'd checked, tested and double-checked his theoretical equations, measured the dimensions of the Cabinet about twenty bloody thousand times, and thought he had controlled for the mess that was his last experimentation. Should he have not altogether dismissed the applications of limited Apparition as a possibility at Hogwarts?

His mind whirling, he closed the Cabinet door roughly and stomped his way out of the Room of Hidden Things.

The seventh floor was mostly quiet, but he could make out traces of general chatter all the way from the Great Hall. He frowned, checking his watch; it was just before two o'clock, so he supposed some stragglers would still be having lunch. However, he had no desire to run into anyone who might be troublesome – a certain Weasley in particular – and chose a detour to the library.

He glimpsed some students returning from Dumbledore's office, looking discouraged. It wasn't uncommon to see the odd group attempting to gain entry to the room, but these students seemed quite young to be challenging the magic sealing the office.

Draco descended the stairs, and so did the three boys who had returned from Dumbledore's office.

"What were you expecting? It's only the office of _the_ Chief Warlock," one quipped. "Just because you know two more spells than you did yesterday…"

_Granger found some volunteers, I see_, Draco thought disgustedly.

"You don't know if you don't try," said another.

"What do you know now, then, dumbarse?"

They suddenly went quiet and began to whisper; Draco's ears pricked, curious as to why.

"That's Draco Malfoy, isn't it?"

_Ah, spotted._ His lips curled into a distorted smile.

"Shush –"

"Yes, it's Draco Malfoy," he drawled, turning around on the staircase between the fifth and fourth levels. "What can I do for you?"

Their eyes went wide, and one stuttered, "E-er, nothing. Sir. Malfoy."

Draco snorted in amusement.

"Sorry, we'll just… be off." The one who spoke pushed the other two forward and past him, and the three of them jogged down the steps.

"First-years," Draco muttered in satisfaction, and turned to enter the Hogwarts library.

Unsurprisingly, the aisles were quieter and the study desks emptier now that there were no teachers to give out homework or assignments. Draco thought the mellower atmosphere was quite pleasant, but what he enjoyed most was entering the restricted section of the library without the farce of a pass from the teachers.

So he did.

Draco sauntered into the section for Advanced Defence, taking care not to accidentally brush any of the book spines in the dark, narrow aisle lest any took offence. Coming to a stop at the far end of the bookshelf, he contemplated the posted list of titles in the aisle.

_Magical architecture and construction_

_Spirits, nymphes and cretures of the naturall lande_

_Protected properties: Your home is the first line of defence_

_Le château de la bête et ses merveilles transfiguratives_

He was fairly sure he'd skimmed the third title and found nothing useful to him, and he had an annotated copy of the fourth from his father's library. He frowned.

Draco jumped as the aisle beside his produced a sudden crashing sound.

"Ow. Shit."

The voice sounded familiar, and an unsettling feeling came over Draco. Horror and validation mixed oddly in his chest as a female figure backtracked from the aisle, her red hair in a notable state of dishevel as she nursed an injured finger.

"Weasley?" Draco blurted out before he could stop himself.

The Weasley girl turned and surprise bloomed on her face as she saw him. "Oh, er, Malfoy," she began hesitantly. "Fancy seeing you here."

He was about to berate himself for calling out to her, but her response made him think twice. A sly smile pulled at his lips – what sort of Weasley could say that to a Malfoy with a straight face?

"I'm sure you do," he said instead, smirking at her.

Weasley's face imploded into an ungodly shade of red. "No," she fumed, "no, I don't, actually. Arsehole – ouch –" She winced as she unintentionally aggravated her hurt finger. She cradled it in her other hand and resumed glaring at him.

"You should get that looked at," Draco said in a leisurely tone. It was a bit sad, he supposed, but talking to the Weasley girl was the most entertainment he'd had all year. "The books on that shelf all don't like it when you touch them without their permission. They bite."

"You're telling me that now," she retorted, bending down to retrieve a fallen book and stuffed it in her bag. Its title peeked out: _Beasts of the Night_.

"Weasley," he said suddenly. "If that's the book that bit you, you'll want this." He dug in his pocket and threw a small jar at her.

She caught it and read the label, confused. "Concentrated murtlap?"

"Your wound might have traces of a diluted curse. From the book."

"Oh." The expression of hostility on her face transformed into awkwardness. "...Thanks, Malfoy."

He shrugged and turned around, fully intent on ignoring her from that point on.

A beat passed. "Thanks, Malfoy," she said softly, and this time he knew it wasn't for the jar of murtlap.

Draco turned his head and his eyes met hers, honey-brown and resolute.

"I'm holding classes for the younger students," she said. "If… if you know any first-years in Slytherin, you can tell them to come to the Charms classroom on Monday so we can sort them into a class for their level."

Weasley stopped, looking as if she wanted to say something else, then shook her head and brushed past him to leave.

Something smelled like cinnamon. He let himself stare after her a little longer.

* * *

The dead Flobberworms lay still in the Cabinet, exactly where he'd left them. Draco wasn't sure what he'd expected – perhaps he'd hoped that they were just unconscious? – but his frustration returned twofold.

He'd returned empty-handed from the library, having found no suitable research material in the section he explored today.

_Fancy seeing you here._

Growling, Draco picked up two Flobberworms and examined them. It was difficult to tell what had caused their deaths this time, but given the distinct lack of severed worm bodies, he assumed it was asphyxiation.

Not that he had the faintest idea of how to check for a lack of oxygen in Flobberworms. Draco sighed, tiredly rubbing his eyes – but suddenly stopped. Reluctantly, almost suspiciously, he gave his robe sleeves a sniff. A familiar spicy-sweet scent lingered on them.

He stood abruptly, taking off his outer robes and flinging them several metres away. Bloody house-elves couldn't do laundry properly.

_Fancy seeing you here._

But the scent continued to dance around him as he knelt to tinker with the Cabinet, and for whatever reason, Draco could not stop thinking of how a certain redhead looked when she was flustered.

He put the next batch of Flobberworms into the Cabinet, and flicked his wand.

* * *

Ginny stared at her finger. She had been reluctant to use something Malfoy of all people had given her, but the bite wound had continued to bleed and sting with regular light treatment. To her amazement, Malfoy's concentrated murtlap essence had almost instantly sealed the wound, if not healed it.

She looked grimly at _Beasts of the Night_, which was now sitting quite obediently on a coffee table in the common room. He must have been right about the diluted curse in the bite injury.

When Ginny had left the library, she could feel her face heating up as she realised that Malfoy's offering meant he'd seen what the book she took out had been. He probably knew that she was researching his condition now.

She hugged her knees and buried her face. _What the hell am I doing?_

Ginny's mind kept recalling Ron's words. _Harry reckons he's a Death Eater._ But if he was, then it made no sense as to why Malfoy would let her go after she had discovered he was a werewolf.

"Nothing makes sense," she mumbled into her knees.

"What does, really?"

Ginny shot up and saw Harry looking amused, sitting in the armchair across from hers.

"Hermione says the younger kids are progressing," Harry said. "She wanted to pass on her thanks. So did I."

"O-oh," Ginny said nervously. "Not a problem. I'm glad I'm helping you three."

Harry snorted. "Yeah. I don't know if you've heard it or anything, but Ron's been bragging about you all week. I nearly threw my pie at him – no offence, Ginny."

She blinked, then laughed, feeling a rush of fondness for her brother. "None taken. I know how he gets."

"I think he's still a bit bummed from when you kicked him out, though."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He can ask me if he wants to come back and help."

"...You'd let him?"

"No."

He laughed, an honest sound that made her smile. They spent a few moments in comfortable silence.

Ginny peered sideways at Harry. She'd always thought he was beautiful in his recklessness, and couldn't help but compare his candidness to how Malfoy seemed to measure his social interactions as transactions.

_Don't attack me, and I won't attack you_, he'd said matter-of-factly. _If you breathe so much as a word about what happens here to anyone, I will hunt you down._

Her gaze flitted to the crackling fireplace, the cheerful rhythm of the flame reminiscent of the gentle, low torch in the abandoned classroom.

He'd helped her with the bite wound, and there was no way that concentrated murtlap essence would have been easy to come by with Hogwarts being isolated. He asked for nothing in return – even sparing her embarrassment by leaving her without a word the next morning – but before she knew it, she'd begun speaking in his language of transactions.

_If you know any first-years in Slytherin…_

Tom had been that way, too. She'd had to learn how to speak with him, to return his goodwill in exactly the same manner so he wouldn't ignore her entries… but without her knowing, he'd already taken her soul as his compensation.

In that way, he was as reckless as Harry.

She gave a long sigh, and Harry looked at her, slightly alarmed.

"Are you all right?"

She gave him a weak, affirmative smile, and reached for _Beasts of the Night_, opening it to a chapter she'd marked.

_Despite the abundance of Muggle mythology on lycanthropy, werewolves who are Muggles are exceedingly rare. Victims are infected by their bites, which inflict cursed wounds..._

"Third-years on Thursday," Ginny informed Harry when she noticed his curiosity towards the book.

_Does it hurt?_ she had wanted to ask Malfoy, but didn't.

* * *

_He could already feel the sharp fangs, white and lethal and coated in bloodthirst, before they sunk into his flesh and shattered his bones. He did his best not to scream, but did anyway, humiliation and pain washing over him as he saw the glint of sadistic satisfaction in the werewolf's eyes._

_He couldn't see the sky, but he could feel the judgement of the full moon strike down upon the land –_

Draco's eyes flew open, and he immediately clutched his left forearm, curling up in agony. The old wound pulsed with a scalding heat that radiated to his shoulders; it was pure malice, he knew, Fenrir's malice in the form of pain.

He clamped his mouth to prevent himself from yelling through the excruciation, willing his other arm to move. Breathing heavily, he scrambled for his wand, gritted his teeth through the wave of pain, and when he had a moment to breathe –

"_Silencio_," he choked out, pointing his wand at himself, and the wand clattered softly on the carpet as he screamed and writhed his heart out in his bed.

* * *

Draco awoke, exhausted beyond capacity.

He couldn't remember when he had whited out from the pain, but he never did remember, anyway. His muscles groaned as he carefully sat up, keeping the pressure light on his left forearm.

Draco glanced at his arm; the extensive scarring had gone an angry, raw red. He made for his bedside table when he realised –

"Fucking hell," he whispered, his throat sore and his voice raspy from overuse.

Why the fuck did he give away his concentrated murtlap essence?

He dressed haphazardly, threw on a newly washed set of robes, and left the Slytherin quarters while avoiding mirrors. He knew he looked terrible.

Draco single-mindedly headed for the Potions storeroom to forage the stocks for some murtlap essence. He could make the journey in his sleep, so he didn't think twice about opening the door into the laboratory and simply strode in.

He came to a halt as he saw who was inside.

"Malfoy," the Weasley girl said, looking surprised, then uncertain, then thoughtful. "You look like shit," she added with no particular emotion, as if she was conversing about the weather.

Something leapt in his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"What –" Malfoy's words snagged on a rasp, and he tried again. "What are you doing here, Weasley?"

Ginny's eyebrows furrowed at the whisper – his throat sounded painful, but he wasn't coughing at all. "The Potions storeroom isn't solely Slytherin property," she responded as casually as she could, returning to the cupboard she'd been rummaging in.

Malfoy was silent, but she could feel him watching her movements. She could feel her heart drumming in her ears.

"I'm looking for more concentrated murtlap essence," she said, feeling a little breathless from her nervousness. It was tense enough speaking to Malfoy without having to look at him; it didn't feel as though the library encounter was just yesterday. "The stuff you gave me, it's… it's good. And I thought we should stock up. Just in case."

_Beasts of the Night_ was still on her bedside table after she finished the chapter on lycanthropes last night. Her thoughts reeled in possible conclusions. Last year at Grimmauld Place, Remus had spoken several times about Fenrir Greyback – as well as his fondness for turning children – and she knew what Tom was like. And Malfoy –

_It's better to be prepared for the younger ones, for what's out there_, she told herself, halting her previous train of thought.

She took some bottles, read their labels, and put them back. The words wouldn't register in her mind; Ginny didn't know if any of them were what she needed, but simply standing there would make her feel idiotic. Soft, hesitant footsteps came closer to her, and a shadow loomed beside her; she could smell a faint whiff of cedarwood, and it was then that Ginny realised Malfoy had reached over her to take something from a higher shelf.

She was acutely aware of him next to her, and she could feel her face redden. _Snap out of it_, she told herself firmly, and she moved several steps to the side.

Ginny was mortified to realise she felt disappointed she could no longer feel his body heat.

Malfoy was still searching the cupboard, moving around some jars until he had one in each hand. He spared her no glance as he took them to the worktable and began setting up potions equipment.

Ginny was horrified to notice she felt even more disappointed at – _At what, exactly?_ she thought miserably. She took a deep breath, and then noticed that one of the jars Malfoy had taken was essence of murtlap.

"Did you find the concentrate?" Ginny asked, curious.

Malfoy gave her a side glance and turned back to his mortar and pestle, grinding away at an ingredient. "They don't have it," he rasped. He set aside the bowl, then tapped at a set of interconnected flasks to turn up the fire.

Ginny frowned. "How did you come by it, then?"

A few seconds passed in silence; instead of answering her, he was pouring the ground powder into the jelly-like mixture he had just taken off the heat. She was about to lash out in anger when she realised the mixture looked eerily like the substance in the jar he'd given her.

He simply looked at her, bottling the product, as if that answered her question. She took it to mean that he'd made it.

_Merlin._ Malfoy really was looking awful. Deep-set shadows under his eyes made him look more gaunt than he had the night of his transformation. His hair, which Ron had disparaged numerous times for its over-gelled look, was unkempt and lacklustre.

"Are you sick?" Ginny blurted out in concern.

Malfoy's gaze turned sharp. "What?" he rasped bluntly.

"You just – you look really awful," she finished lamely.

He sneered at her. "Mind your own business," he snapped, picking up his bottle. He began to clear the worktable, drawing his sleeves to his elbows.

"You're a bastard, you know –" Ginny felt herself let out a loud gasp as she saw his arm, cutting off her remark. Malfoy, surprised at the sharp sound, looked up, following her gaze with widening eyes before he quickly covered his forearm with his sleeve once again.

"You saw _nothing_," he hissed at her, pink tingeing his cheeks.

But she did see it.

A crescent-shaped scar ran the length of his left forearm, shining a painful-looking scarlet. It had healed ragged and uneven, the implied violence almost glowing through its grotesqueness.

Ginny stared at Malfoy. _Is that why he had the concentrated murtlap?_

_Your wound might have traces of a diluted curse_, he'd said yesterday at the library.

Her eyes turned round as it dawned on her.

_Victims are infected by their bites, which inflict cursed wounds..._

Without sparing her another glance, Malfoy fled the storeroom.

"Wait, Malfoy!" Ginny ran after him, grabbing his robes. "Wait, that looks like –"

Malfoy turned and snarled, startling her enough to let him go. "Haven't you had enough of a show?" he growled, shielding his arm.

Ginny bit her lip. "That's not…"

_Transactional, transactional._ She blinked and began rummaging in her pocket. Malfoy gave her a sceptical look and made to leave once again, but Ginny held out her arm to stop him.

She was angry, and she didn't know why.

"Merlin, Malfoy – just stop, all right?" Ginny dragged him back into the storeroom and forcefully sat him down on a bench, sitting next to him as she produced the jar he gave her yesterday.

Malfoy seemed surprised, but he stayed put.

Ginny carefully lifted the sleeve of his left arm, pausing when she heard a faint growling. She shot Malfoy an unimpressed look. "Stop it," she said bluntly, opening the jar. "Or I'll hit you."

The growling abruptly stopped, and Malfoy looked away. "Sorry."

Ginny dipped her hand in the jar, scooping up some of the mixture, and carefully applied it on the scarred flesh, tracing over the more painful-looking ridges with thicker layers of the concentrated murtlap essence. _Harry reckons he might be a Death Eater._

It wasn't a Dark Mark after all.

Malfoy hissed, but the room was otherwise silent as she smeared his arm.

"Does it hurt?" she murmured.

"No."

Ginny lifted her head and saw that he was still looking away, his face set in a neutral expression, although she thought she could see the slightest shade of pink on his neck. She looked back at his arm.

The scar was deeper in some places, and she could almost see the puncture wounds from where powerful jaws had left its mark – particularly around his wrist. Malfoy visibly tensed whenever her fingers ran over them.

"Does it hurt?" she asked again.

"...No," he repeated, his voice a little huskier, and he finally turned to look at her. Ginny's breath caught at his dark eyes, which flew briefly to her lips.

She was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was holding his arm quite intimately on her lap, and that they were close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her hair. She inhaled sharply.

A mistake, because she could smell that cedarwood scent more cleanly than before, and it sent her head spinning.

Ginny dropped his arm off her lap and slowly moved away, giving a smile as best as she could. "Well," she began, intending to leave. "Fancy seeing you here, Malfoy."

He blinked in surprise, then snorted. "I'm sure you do," he responded, smirking.

_Oh, bugger._

Ginny leaned in and kissed him, momentarily melting into the scent that was Draco Malfoy.

His lips were frozen until they weren't; hesitating, until they weren't. He was warm, and present, and willingly vulnerable, and she couldn't help but smile as she pulled away softly. Ginny felt a small sense of satisfaction to see him as breathless as she was.

_Transactional._ He didn't take anything from her until she offered it.

A slight cough rang from the storeroom entrance, and both she and Malfoy turned to look. Nott stood there, looking a little awkward. Ginny took it as her cue to get going, so she shot him a smirk of her own before she left for the class of the day.

* * *

"So," Theo began quietly, "when did that happen?"

Draco tried to keep his mind on counting his clockwise stirs. "When did what happen?" he responded casually, watching the mixture thicken in the cauldron.

"You and the Weasley girl."

Draco set down his stirrer, flicked his wand to Vanish his curdling concoction – no explosion, but still a failure – and looked at Theo. "I'm not sure it did."

Theo looked annoyed. "Look, I enjoy a fling as much as the next hot-blooded man," he said, stirring his potion somewhat forcefully, "but a _Weasley_? Do you _want_ Slytherin to laugh at you?"

Draco felt something cold prickle his spine.

"Fuck," Theo said as his mixture turned a terrible shade of fuchsia, and he Vanished his, too. "Look, Draco. What about the Cabinet?"

_What about the Cabinet? The Cabinet can go fuck itself, along with everyone else who spurned the Malfoys_, Draco thought bitterly.

_Stay safe, Draco. Write to me and your father often._

He stayed silent.

"What about you, Theodore?"

"I asked you first, damn it."

Several tense moments passed.

"I fixed the Cabinet."

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry for the horrible ending. TT_TT Think of it as a Part One, with an upcoming Part Two?

(I hope you liked it, Elizabeth! hearts)


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